


Glimpses of What May

by sugarspuncoeurls



Category: Berserk
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-22 02:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8269006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarspuncoeurls/pseuds/sugarspuncoeurls
Summary: With this moment is a glimpse, just a glimpse, but what she sees is everything that could be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An expansion of sorts of Chapter 48, aka the Morning After, cuz it honestly could've lasted forever. A solid bit of sensuality, so be forewarned in case that ain't your thing. A huge thanks to those who left kudos and comments on "Body Count!" Enjoy!!
> 
> Also available on my tumblr under the same username. Feel free to check it out.

She thinks she’s already experiencing a small piece of it. Life with him. It’s here, in the protective shadow cast by his huge body; there, on the impossibly hard calluses of his hand on her naked hip. In the heavying lean of his weight, kept carefully under control as he presses close, tilts her neck back.

“ _Come with me_.”

Their kiss is light, their lips dry. So unlike these last hours, imbued as they were with heat and pressure, pain and pleasure. Everything with him, she’s starting to think, includes these things. Strength, and struggle, and a strange, unexpected softness she’s never truly seen before now, with him firm under her fingers, present in places no one’s ever before been.

“ _Come with me_.”

His arm encircles her waist, and her own itch to wrap about his neck. She doesn’t let them; even now, the Hawk in her is demanding a return to the cast, before the others come calling. She does, however, against her better judgment, allow him to deepen their kiss. The fingers cradling her chin shift, drop, to her neck, her collar, her shoulder, to the soft, scarred curve of her breast. His thumb brushes her hardened nipple once, then again, and her breath catches as her arms rise, hands taking a hard grip on his sides, fingers fitting into grooves made by muscle and bone.

They part for half a breath, and the thing to leave her lips is not a reprimand, not an order, but a sigh, a moan tangled in her tongue as it tangles with his. It’s quiet, near silent, but she swears it echoes in the minimal space between them, resonant as the roar of the waterfall at their backs.

“ _Come with me_ ,” he said.

 _I want to,_ she thinks. _I want **this**. _

A sound at the back of his throat, a groan or a growl, heats her blood, makes her hold on him tighten.

_I want him._

With this moment is a glimpse, just a glimpse, but what she sees is everything that could be. A dirt road in an unfamiliar land, a cottage covered in snow. A town, a tower; a forest and a city by the sea.

And them. Him, walking an invisible path with that ridiculous sword strapped to his armored back. Her, walking as much by his side as he by hers, her hair a little longer, her own sword a little sharper. He picks a blooming weed by the roadside and insists it’s a flower and nonchalantly offers it to her, gauntleted fingers bloody from a bandits’ ambush. She shakes her head but tucks it in the breastplate of her armor, and the action prompts him to tell her a story about a fairy with leaves that healed.

They travel, they argue, and they bleed. And in the end, as a fire is banked and the night comes alive, she settles against his chest and basks in his warmth, scoffs when he wraps their blanket around them and announces that they have “nine-hundred-and-fifty-two more times to go.” She settles her cheek to his chest, listens to the strong thud of his heartbeat, and somehow knows that the sound of it will never get old.

Now, she feels it beating quick and steady under her hand as she finally pulls away. She breathes in, eyes closed, and only breathes out when she feels those blunt fingers under her chin, lifting her face and bringing her forehead against another. “Is this an answer?” Deep, edged; his voice produces shivers. She smiles a touch, finds his shoulder with a hand, and with a burst of will, pushes.

He falls back easily; no resistance, and when their eyes finally meet, brown to black, she knows he gets it. Without her saying a word, he understands.

She speaks anyway, for herself as much as for him.

“Not yet.” She brings a hand up to rub at her arm; the loss of his heat has brought a chill, created goosepimples on her skin. “After the mission, after we bring Griffith back and the Hawk can stand again…” She looks at him, chin lifted, resolute. “I’ll have my answer for you, then. You have my word.”

He smirks. “Don’t rush it. Make sure it’s what you want.”

 _What I want._ When was the last time she truly considered such a thing?

They dress in silence, thoughts to themselves. It’s familiar, professional, like the day after their fall from that cliff, the first step they ever took toward genuine camaraderie. She keeps her head down as she secures her breast band, dons her shirt and leggings and laces her boots. She goes to grab her first piece of armor, mentally prepping her orders for the band on their return, when –

He stands in her periphery, holding her breastplate in his hands. When she turns, he shakes it in emphasis before stepping close. “Got it,” he says simply, and then he’s there, fitting it to her chest, strapping it into place, securing the buckles and checking them over. She blinks and makes to protest. “Guts –”

“We’re headed back to the battlefield.” She quiets. He doesn’t look her in the eye, focuses instead on grabbing her pauldron and rerebrace from the pile at his feet – _when did he take them?_ – and fastening both respectively around her shoulder and bicep. “Prob’ly won’t get the chance to do something like this for a while, if we’re tryin’ to keep it between us.” He glances at her, a quick flash that makes her cheeks warm as he clips her mantle into place. “I know you can do it yourself. But I wanted to. Just because.”

“Thank you.” It’s all she can think to say. He looks at her again, head at a slight tilt, amused.

“I took your armor off. Figure I can put it back on.”

She fights to keep their eyes locked, to keep hers from trailing away as fresh memories surface. Heat and pressure, pain and pleasure. “What about yours?” His belongings still lie in the haphazard pile they made hours earlier. He tosses a look over his shoulder, then finds her gaze again, one thick eyebrow quirking.

“You took off mine, if I remember right.”

She manages her own smirk. “Subtle.”

“Wasn’t tryin’ to be.” In a move she would’ve once considered brazen, he brings his hand to her face, a gentle brush of her bangs away. “I’ll handle it if you don’t want to.”

Again. _What I want._

She watches him go to his armor and kneel, hands rifling for his first piece, the sun making shadows on his back of the leaves overhead.

_A couple more minutes, a few more glimpses._

_You, and the future we could have._

“Hey,” she calls as he rises, and gestures him back. “Bring it all over here.”

For now, _this_ is enough.


End file.
